A pack of guitarists in a room that was hot, damn hot!
"You could smell the testoserone in the air!"
By scratching the dark underbelly of the Rock and Roll publicity machine
you will find a treasure trove of bullshit artists, hangers-on and tight-
arses ..... let me tell you a tale about our heroic musical private eye Karl
Karl Karma lives in a pseudo-trendy part of town between Yarraville and
Laverton. This particular Karma is part of that bold new breed that films
and plays weird songs that nobody can dance to, thereby causing the
guy/chick ratio at gigs to err in favour of the guys. His habit of videoing
the most bizarre parts of nature and having it shown whilst good people
everywhere are quietely trying to watch Fusion music become popular
again has now become very irritating to people everywhere.
One morning, Karl awoke to read in Beatpress magazine that mandolin-
god "Speevy Spai" was coming to town with banjo-meister "Spike
Khemlani", two of the greatest pluckers in the known musical universe.
Karl turned and strode nonchalantly into his dinky little office with the
about-to-be repossessed Radio Rentals computer and proceeded to
ponder the question of Eternity, and how to get The Speev and The
Spike on his dinky little show.
Karl immediately went to work by Emailing the relevant promoter "Big
Swifty and associates Trend-mongers" and also leaving a very important
communique with the Speev's web-site.
Karl then dressed in a wonderfully becoming red dress and celebrated
Christmas playing weird songs to friends and family. Everybody laughed
very much at Karl's red dress and were more than a little tittilated at the
sight of Spangus Gonzo, the lead-guitar player also wearing a very sexy
outfit; reminicent of the little number L. Ron Hooover, head of the Fox
Mulder Bureau of Investigation wore the night he over-exerted himself
with a X-QJ37 Trans-orbital plooker.
As the concert dates drew nearer and still recieving no reply from the
Speev, Karl decided to drive his Be-Bop Volkswagon with two working
cylinders and windows that don't wind down, into a grim grey evil looking
part of town called "PROMOLAND". Once there, he parked his faded
blue love machine and made his way past the Government buildings and
found DORA the Promo Princess!
Dora, who gave great Aura, proceeded to tell Karl that PROMOLAND
Inc. only lets nocturnal, gregarious wild swine (that means you, Karma!)
near their hired property (i.e. Speev and Spike) if they do a great amount
of pre-publicity on their respective infomercial corporate subsidised media
vehicle. Karl, not having a paradiddle to stand on, as his show was
completely self-funded and devoid of anything slightly resembling current
manufactured trends, decided that the only course left open was to
speak in a rare dialect known only to private dicks, YES that's right, The
only hope Karl had was to speak HORSESHIT!
"OHH YES, Dora, Ha Ha, I know what you mean! I'm sure I can do that
for you..... not a problem.....by the way....love your nails.... heh...heh.."
Karl landed the interview! As Karl walked back to his faded blue Be-Bop
ChickMagnet, The parking officer writing Karl a ticket heard him shout in
a manner known only to private dicks ... "My GOD! Horseshit works! I
should throw some on my lawn and make the fucker grow!" Karl
proceeded to give the officer the finger and went to work plotting a
scheme that would sweep the ocean. The same way HORSESHIT did.
Cleverly, Karl edited in a small segment into his current already finished
show saying "The Speev and Spike are coming! Watch next week for an
exciting episode of destiny, adventure and romance!
"Heh,heh,heh" Karl chuckled to himself "Horseshit works!"
The second morning after his big horseshit promo went to air, Karl's
phone rang, scaring him half out of his secretary .... "Hi, Mildred? Gladys?
Oh, It's you Dora, how are ya darlin'?
"Karl, I'm very sorry, but my interview time has been pulled by Big Swifty,
so there won't be an interview with the Speev or Spike, how about an
interview with the "Well-Oiled Blisters?"
"EEEEEEPPP" Karl said as he hung up the phone.
"Heh,Heh,Heh ... Horseshit works!" Dora said as she hung up the phone.
What hath God wrought? What was he to do? The phone rang once
more, this time it didn't scare Karl half out of anybody because the
secretary had pissed off with a rage of Hunch-Women finding employment
at "The Daily Planet of the Baritone Women" a nice pub in the middle of
town catering for lovely women who find male musicians generally
It was Fred Flatulant the bass player, He whispered down the phone
line........... "Ring this guy, he's on the inside, he's travelling with Speev and
Spike 'cos he knows the drummer's coke roadie! He's a good guy!"
"Thanks for the tip, man" Karl hung up the phone and immediately dialed
the man on the inside Codename: Sore Throat..... Deep Throat's
"UUmmm, AAhh, Sore Throat? I can't talk long, A David Lee Roth cover
band are trying to trace this call, where's the contact point? OK... got it!
What's the password? ....Whitesnake suck! OK... got it! Signing off.
Karl carefully shined his Telefunken U47 and cleaned the heads of his
Panasonic VG250 space modulator video, waiting, waiting, waiting............
All systems go....... Karl slammed down the phone and made his way to
the eighty-third floor of a grim, grey, evil-looking building with a sign on the
front saying "If it's hot, we handle it!"
Karl Karma entered the building, up to the eighty-third floor and into a
packed room of guitarists, the room was hot, damn hot! So hot you could
smell the testoserone in the air!
"Quentin Robert DeNameland, manager? Hi, it's me, Karl Karma, where
do I set up?"
"Well, Karl, I don't think you can film the Speev while he's talking because
this guy from "Small furry rodent-FM" claims he has exclusive interview
rights" Karl turns to meet Muffin Man, The Muffin Man with a sneer and
sarcastic smile turns to Karl and says.........."Heh,Heh,Heh"
And with that Quentin turned and introduced Karl to the security chief,
Balded headed John King. Viewing these proceedings, Bald headed John
turns to Quentin and speaks.... "I need a dozen towels so the boys can
take a shower".
While Quentin turns to find linen, with Muffin Man from Rodent-FM
brown-nosing all the while, Bald-headed John says to Karl ......
"You put me and the boys on the show, and I'll get that interview for you
and more.....heh,heh,heh." Karl replies nervously "What flavour pillows do
Suddenly another film crew invade the scene with one camera, three
interviewers and eight cameramen, all related ..... a deal is done ......
strange bedfellows in promoland!
"Hi, I'm Speevie Spai and your watching SCHMe... SchMellbbb ..whaaa...
shit, do it again..... Hi, welcome to Schmelbon Schmoozzoo's and we
handle it if it's hot......shit, where's the Sudafed, I'm sick!"
Karl had done it! The Speev was in the can! No Spike though; he was
caught in sound-check and the receptionist of the Bayside Promotel
where everyone was staying didn't know the name. Karl later found that
they checked in under the alias ........ "Mr and Mrs Lasher" from Whipping
Post, Alabama. Meanwhile Muffin Man from Rodent-FM was left in a
queue wondering where his horseshit had disappeared to, heh,heh,heh.
The next step for Karl was to get into the concert; having given all his
hard earned private-dick type cash to Radio Rentals and other sundry
"trying to keep the business afloat" concerns, Karl had hoped that a ticket
would fly his way in return for the amount of blood, sweat and blowjobs
put into capturing The Speev on celluloid.
Record Company say....."But NNNNOOOOOO!"
Buy a ticket at the door? But NNNOOOO.. all sold out.
Tickets for the boys at "Hot, We handle it?.."But NNNNOOO!"
Even though they worked their butts off?.."But NNNNOOO!"
Ticket for friend of mine.. pianist Allan Cattle-Prod, knows the Speev,
played with the Speev, great muso?.."But NNNNOOOO!"
Even though Karl didn't see the concert, he was still heartened by the
fact that one or two people in Promoland weren't the scum-sucking
vermin that is rampant in this biz.
Unlikely friends and many thanks that Karl gave were to:
Sore Throat..... man on the inside.
Fred Flatulant, the bass player
Quentin Robert DeNameland and the boys at.. Hot? We Handle It!
Balded Headed John King of the Security Plookers.
Karl Karma then adjourned to the nearest bar with a few girls from the
steno pool; Mildred, who had beautiful eyes .. in fact one eye was so
beautiful the other one couldn't stop looking at it! Gladys; she had the
most beautiful hair on her head too! and Wanda; a tall girl, Karl knew she
was tall the first time she walked past his office window, his office is on
the seventh floor! Nice girls who knew that Karl was a nocturnal,
gregarious wild private dick on his way up! (The man that is, not the dick.)
A Karma of destiny, adventure and romance. They asked him if he would
like a root beer.
Later, as he sat in his favorite chair, listening to the classic Zappa album
"Studio Tan" Karl Karma reminisced that the root was nice, but the beer
was flat. The end.